In the spirit of Thanksgiving, what should have happened at the end of "Pangs". A short and sweet piece of holiday dessert, SPILLOW-style. (Nominated for Best Willow/Spike Fic and Best NC-17 Fic at the Willowy Goodness Awards 2013! So honored!)

SUMMARY: In the spirit of Thanksgiving, what should have happened at the end of "Pangs". A short and sweet piece of holiday dessert, SPILLOW-style.

PAIRING: Willow/Spike

RATING: T/M

TIMELINE/SPOILERS: BtVS through Season 4 Episode 8 ("Pangs").

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just giving Spike some long-deserved love!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written with love for 3hours!

Willow couldn't stand it anymore. That last piece, that final, teeny-tiny slice none of them wanted to take because they didn't want to be greedy, was hidden away in the refrigerator. Calling her name. Sniffling for her. She couldn't just let it stay there all alone. Not on Thanksgiving.

Okay, yeah, so Buffy had had to talk her into the whole dinner thing. But, look how good of a sport she was! Taking one for the team, she justified it to herself. She padded over to Giles' small galley.

Xander and Anya had left as soon as they could waddle their way out. Giles had gone upstairs to retrieve some cards but was now snoring away. And Buffy was clearly out for a while on the sofa, post-cooking, post-fighting, post-eating, post-Angel-brooding. That meant Willow was free and clear.

"Don't be sad," she whispered to the silky little morsel as she nudged open the fridge. "I came back like I promised."

"Yeah? Well you coulda done it quicker," Spike spat, still tied to the dining chair where they had left him.

Willow gasped. The room had been so quiet—nothing but the sounds of crickets outside (or, perhaps now inside, since the windows had been broken) and Giles' snores falling from his upstairs loft. Spike had been the last thing on her mind. But, there he was, wide awake and threatening to wake everyone else up too.

"Don't tell me," he continued. "You're taking the last of the pie."

Her cheeks flushed. "Well, I… didn't want it to go to waste…"

"Right. Not like me. Wastin' away to nothin'. And on Thanksgiving, no less." He made sure to be extra-grumbly about that last part, despite everything that made his irritation contrary.

It slowly started chipping away at her. "What about that gravy Buffy gave you at dinner?" See, that was something.

He scoffed. "Have a cupful of gravy often? Pretty filling, eh?"

"Yeah, but… it's not like we knew you'd be here. Otherwise, ummm... I'm sure Buffy would have gone to the butcher's." She bit her lip lightly.

"So you couldn't spare a plate?"

Willow gave him an odd look when she finally figured out what he was saying to her. "You don't eat people food."

"Angel couldn't get a woman to scream his name unless he was killing her. I'm not Angel."

Willow blushed deeper.

"Come on then," Spike continued in a different tone. "Spare some compassion for the weak and infirm. I think there's an arrowhead still stuck in my leg." His blue eyes glittered.

That worked.

The guilt wormed its way through her and settled in her heart. Her brain kept arguing that, after everything he'd done to her and her friends (and probably the world), he deserved a stake through his chest. But her heart reminded her of the defense she gave earlier. Well, before she started beating indigenous ghost-zombies over the head with a shovel.

With a barely-audible whimper of defeat, she took the pie plate out and grabbed a fork. Dammit.

Spike, on the other hand, was delighted. Not about the pie, of course. Fuck pumpkin pie and fuck bloody Thanksgiving. He was delighted that the chip hadn't made him entirely ineffectual.

Watching Willow trudge over to the table had him smirking inside. Outwardly, he showed her a bit of a pout. Kind of matching her own. The innocent ones weren't really his type, but that quivering little lip of hers was starting to interest him. It was a glossy natural rose that looked sweet enough to eat.

Just a taste. That's all he wanted. Just a little nip.

Willow placed the pie plate on the table as quietly as she could. Maybe he wouldn't eat it all, and she could still have some. Even just a smidge. God, how self-centered can you get? Just give it to him already! A sharp pain as she pulled the tin foil off, however, brought her back to the moment. "Ow!"

She didn't need to tell him what happened. The metallic tang made his pupils dilate. Sod the pie.

Of course this had to happen. And stuffy Giles didn't have any paper napkins. No, he had those rough linen ones that she was sure he wouldn't want stained with blood and pie.

Spike saw her looking around for something to stop the bleeding. Hello, right here! "Don't tease, Pet. Let me."

"What?" she squeaked. "No way, Jose!"

He frowned for a moment. "I won't bite. You know I can't."

She didn't look convinced. And the blood was flowing now. Must have sliced at a pulse point. It was driving him nuts, and he almost thought he would vamp out. He was so weak from hunger he could barely control the transformation.

"Please," he pleaded. He couldn't believe he was reduced to this.

Willow must have heard the pain in his voice because she stopped her search for a bandage. Spike really did look bad. Like the pale that came from being really, really sick. She could see through the holes in his shirt and jeans that the arrow wounds from earlier hadn't even started to heal, which proved it. Oh God, what kind of choice was this?

"Just a taste. Please..."

There were those glittering blue eyes again.

She finally let out an exasperated sigh. "If you hurt me, I'll... I'll stake you with that wooden spoon!"

"Scout's honor."

"You were a Boy Scout? Boy Scouts were around that long?"

"Ate one once, I think."

"Okay, no, that's..."

"No, no, I'm kidding! For God's sake, please!"

Another wrinkled pout of indecision, and then, tentatively, she reached her fingers up to Spike's face. When he opened his mouth, she closed her eyes. Let him get this over with.

The moment the tip of his cool tongue met her sweet blood, they both shivered. For Willow, the sensation was almost soothing, taking away the sting from the cut. She had managed to slice the delicate skin between her index and middle fingers, so every minute movement she made reopened the wound. For Spike, the taste of human blood again was like a drug to a junkie going through withdrawal. He needed it. And how incredible it tasted! Apparently, he had always picked the spicy ones, because this was a new elixir. She was like a carton of fresh berries. He laved the sides of her index finger and then the sides of her middle finger before teasing that little "v" where she was cut. He couldn't help but flicker his tongue on her wound in light little teasing licks.

She had unconsciously moved a bit closer to him while he lapped at her fingers. This was fortunate for her as he was now able to tilt his head in and suck at that juncture. They weren't powerful, but each suckle sent a flush of heat through her small frame. Oh God, is this what Buffy felt when Angel fed off of her? She prayed that the Slayer and her Watcher stayed knocked out from all the tryptophan; there was no way she could bear getting caught like this.

The nearly-silent gasps Willow was making caused Spike's jeans to tighten more uncomfortably than usual. She was enjoying this, no matter how much she might try to deny it. Hell, if he sniffed hard enough, he could smell the beginnings of this enjoyment.

Willow's legs felt kinda shaky. But she was sure he was just about done, so she continued to stand there, close to him. That was until he slipped her finger into his mouth. It was like cool silk wrapping around her. Before she knew it, she found herself sitting on his lap, on the leg that hadn't been struck by the warrior ghost's arrows. Spike was sucking her finger the way she remembered Oz had sucked at her breast once: slowly, reverently, but with a tickle of his tongue at the end.

It was her sweater that did it. That ghastly yellow thing reminded him of the fluffy pink one she wore when he'd had her in the old factory. Oh, he could have drained her dry then. All that sweet blood pumping through her, spiced with fear. Just the thought of it made him suckle harder. He'd sealed her wound already, but this was too good. Having a warm body so close to him. On his lap now, even. He had her right where he wanted her. Something within him rumbled lowly, like a purr.

She could feel that. All around her fingers—both of which he had in his exquisite mouth now—strummed the vibration of whatever the heck it was he was doing. As the moments passed, that vibration spread up her arm, down her chest, towards her core. The tingles between her legs from his ministrations were becoming overwhelming.

If he thought that growling right now wouldn't ruin the moment, he'd be growling. Between the scent of her arousal and the panting she was now doing, he was rock-hard. It was probably a good thing he was still weak and still tied to the chair, otherwise he'd have her splayed out on the dining room table with his face buried between those creamy little thighs. If her blood was this sweet, he could just imagine what that would taste like. Instead, he just fucked her fingers with his mouth, pulling out every well-practiced trick he knew.

And it worked. Oh, how it worked. Soon she was whimpering. The heat from the parts of her that were on his leg scalded him. He didn't need her blood anymore, he just needed this. Her warmth was spreading through him the way a good feeding did.

Was she having an orgasm? Oh God, did he know what she was doing on his leg? She glanced down and accidentally caught sight of him. Of that...bulge.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She was feeling the way she imagined only someone like Faith would, because of things that only someone like Faith would do. Her face flushed with shame, and she pulled her fingers from him.

The look he gave her told her he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly what she just did. Oh God, oh God, oh God...

As she ran off to lock herself in Giles' bathroom, Spike's satisfied grin grew. If his vast years of experience had taught him anything, it was that you could never have just a taste!

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